


not a good loser

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [32]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may have made the playoffs, but they don’t make it very far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a good loser

They may have made the playoffs, but they don’t make it very far. Boston secured the seventh seed against a surging Rangers, and David doesn’t know if the Islanders would have beaten the Rangers — they probably wouldn’t have, since the Rangers have generally gotten the better of them over the years — but they don’t have a chance against the defensive fortress that is this season’s Washington Capitals. 

Perhaps if it was only the defence — David is obviously capable of a lot of offence, the Islanders first line was one of the most effective in the league during the season — but Washington has offence as well, offence that tears through the thin defensive corps, the mediocre to good goaltending, and the Islanders are lucky to snatch a single win in the mess, considering the goal differential at the end of the series is 21 to 9. David scored three of those nine goals, had points on five, and doesn’t feel a single ounce of joy about any of it, except maybe the game winner in game two, since it was the only reason they didn’t go out in a sweep.

Obviously it’s better to go out in the first round than fail to contend for the playoffs in the first place, but David feels worse, in that handshake line, than he felt at the end of every single year they missed the postseason.

“Chin up,” Quincy tells him when he shakes David’s hand, and David narrows his eyes at him, because he’s not _David’s_ captain, and it’s coming off as nothing but condescending. “You were the best fucking guy in the league all season, Chapman.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” David says. It obviously didn’t help them get any further.

Quincy laughs, squeezes his hand. “Well, consider me impressed anyway,” he says. “You were a great competitor, and a hell of a lot of fun to watch.”

“Thank you,” David says, pulling his hand back, because they’re holding up the line, but in the end Quincy spends as long talking to Oleg as he did to David, and the line stays bunched up.

“Couldn’t Quincy have said ‘good game’ like everyone else?” David asks Oleg when they’re walking down the tunnel to the visitor’s room, the Verizon Center still echoing with noise around them. “Did he have to rub it in?”

“Only you,” Oleg says, and refuses to clarify what he means when David asks.

The mood in the room is understandably muted. “Hey,” Santino says, in the lull before the media comes in to ask them about their failure. “At least we made the playoffs this year. Can’t complain about that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Santino,” Benson says, and for once, David agrees with him.

David, of course, gets questions. Only Oleg has more reporters in front of him, and he’s expected to be the mouthpiece of the team.

“Do you feel you let your team down?” he’s asked.

David doesn’t point out that he scored a third of the team’s goals, that, in the end, he had a point on more than half of them. The media knows that. It’s not hard to count to nine. And it’s irrelevant, regardless. They lost.

“Of course I do,” David says.

*

It’s a short flight back to New York, but it’s still late when they get in, mostly silent beyond a few cursory goodbyes at the airport, none David offers, none David receives. He’s exhausted, wrung out from the five games, wonders if he’d even have it in him for the playoff stretch if they’d managed to make it past the first round. He would have found out, he guesses. He’s been exhausted past the point of tolerance, before, and he’s always managed to hold it together until he was no longer needed, but now that it’s all over, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more tired.

He forgets to set his alarm, sleeps until noon, and is totally disgusted with himself when he checks the time. He’s got a missed call from Kiro, and he calls back after he’s had a shower, some breakfast, a cup of coffee to attempt to shake the grogginess that’s clinging to him.

Kiro’s still in the playoffs, if only nominally — Pittsburgh’s currently leading their series 3-2, but Kiro’s been a healthy scratch throughout, hasn’t taken the ice once — is sympathetic, or at least David thinks that’s what he means to convey when, answering the phone, he simply says, “Sucks.”

“Obviously we didn’t deserve to win,” David says. “So.” He hasn’t decided yet if he wants Washington to get destroyed in the next round or go on and win it all, which one would make him feel better. He suspects neither really would.

“Maybe we beat them for you,” Kiro says. 

“We?” David asks, regrets it before the word is even out, but keeps talking, can’t stop himself, even as he wants to take the words back, “Would you even get your name on the Cup if the Penguins won it?”

Kiro’s quiet. “Possibly not, unless someone is hurt,” he says. “They have limited space. I guess you know that.”

“I’m sorry,” David says. “That was—”. He struggles to find something stronger than ‘rude’, less childish than ‘mean’. 

“Cruel,” Kiro says. “You are not a very good loser, are you.” It isn’t really a question. 

“I’m sorry,” David repeats. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well,” Kiro says, back to breezy. “At least you know how to say sorry. Are you training with Vladislav again this summer? You should. He was good for you. You should thank Slava in your speech. After me, of course.”

David’s still practicing the speech in his head, though he’s been doing it less since the playoffs started, had more important things to think about, and of course Vladislav deserves thanks. Maybe after Kiro, certainly after Oleg, who David wants to thank first, even if he thinks he’s supposed to thank his family first. He’s been watching some of the speeches, and they usually do. He still thinks Oleg deserves to be first.

“I don’t know,” David says. He was waiting to see if Oleg was going to bring it up, but Oleg said, the other day, that he was planning on spending the entire summer in Russia, so David guesses it’s a moot point. “If he’s available, I guess.”

“Of course he is available,” Kiro says. “He made Art Ross winner, you think he will not be available for you?”

“I don’t know,” David repeats.

“Have you asked him if he is available?” Kiro asks.

“He’s been kind of busy,” David says. “We all have.”

He can practically hear Kiro roll his eyes. “Ask him,” he says. “Make him take me too, he is evil but good for me.”

“He’s not _evil_ ,” David argues weakly. Some evenings, when every muscle in his body was aching, he may have thought Vladislav was evil, but everything he’s ever done was to make David a better hockey player, so David thinks it’s ungrateful to express dissatisfaction.

“Evil in a good way,” Kiro says.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” David says.

“Oh David,” Kiro says. “So black and white.”

“Evil is _evil_ ,” David says. “It’s the definition of black and white.” He’s not even sure why he’s arguing this. “This is a stupid conversation,” David says.

“Yes,” Kiro says, “but you will keep having it because you feel bad for pointing out I am not helping my team.”

“I’m sorry,” David repeats. 

“You are forgiven,” Kiro says, like it’s as easy as that. David supposes, for him, it must be. Or that he’s lying, but David would prefer to think he isn’t, that he’s forgiven in the space of minutes, as easy as exhaling. David doesn’t think most people do that. He knows he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand Kiro at all. “If you get me Slava,” Kiro adds, after a pause. “Workout buddies, Davidson.”

“Wait, is this blackmail?” David asks.

“Workout buddies,” Kiro repeats emphatically.

“Fine,” David says. “I’ll ask.”

*

Vladislav isn’t there on the day they go to clear their lockers out, speak to the media. David didn’t know why he thought he would be — he trains the players, after all, and obviously none of the Islanders are here today to train. Oleg’s almost constantly surrounded by media, as is David, but David manages to take him aside for a brief moment.

“Is Vladislav going to Russia this summer?” David asks.

“Why would he?” Oleg asks.

“He’s—” David starts.

“Russian?” Oleg asks, smirking a little at him.

“No,” David says. “You said you would be, so I thought—”

“He is not my personal trainer,” Oleg says, with amusement David doesn’t think is fair, considering Vladislav’s been training Oleg on the side for years. “Besides, he has children. He stays in New York.”

“You have children,” David mumbles.

“Children who want to see their grandparents and their cousins,” Oleg says. “Not American teenagers who would complain the whole time.”

David has a feeling Oleg’s repeating something. “Did you ask Vladislav to go to Russia with you?” David asks, after a moment, and Oleg scowls.

“Of course not,” Oleg says, and David knows him well enough to know he’s lying, is startled to realise that. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” David says.

“I know,” Oleg says.

“Would you be mad if Vladislav trained me?” David asks.

“Why would I be?” Oleg says. “I had most points in years this season. He is good for you.”

“I wanted to ask him,” David says. “But he’s not here, so.” 

He’s about to ask Oleg if he can do it when Oleg waves a hand, says he’ll text David Vladislav’s number. “Now back to saying sorry to the media,” Oleg says darkly.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” David says.

“Neither do you,” Oleg says. “You have the least. I hear you say sorry anyway.”

“Well,” David says. “I am.”

“Me too,” Oleg says, and squeezes David’s shoulder, shakes a little, before he returns to the media.

*

David’s not afraid of phones or anything, he just doesn’t have a lot of experience with them, feels uncomfortable, put on the spot, when he’s on one, knowing that the person on the other end is paying attention to every word he’s saying, every awkward pause, verbal tic. It’s a little like the media, but David’s been trained out of those stumbling blocks when there’s a camera on him, the combined efforts of Hockey Canada and Dave’s assistant, who asked him every question he could possibly receive, from the rote to the ridiculous, before the draft, and kept asking until David always knew exactly what he was supposed to answer, could deflect questions when there was no good answer, could answer in a way that gave nothing away. He doesn’t remember if he was ever afraid of the media, but if he had been, the fear was long extinguished by his rookie year.

He’s not afraid, but he doesn’t call Vladislav until two days later, once he’s realised that the longer he waits, the more likely Vladislav is to have made alternate arrangements, especially if it’s become public knowledge that he trained the Art Ross winner the summer previous.

“Hi,” David says, when Vladislav picks up. “It’s David. Chapman.”

“Oleg said you would be calling,” Vladislav says, and David frowns, wonders why Oleg couldn’t have just asked, then. 

“I was wondering,” David says, stops. He’d had a better phrasing, but it’s escaped his head. “Are you busy this summer?” he asks, finally, winces at himself.

“July,” Vladislav says.

“Pardon?” David asks. 

“July is good for you again?” Vladislav says. “Not June and July this time, maybe July and August?”

“That sounds good,” David says, relieved he doesn’t have to ask. “Would it be okay —” he starts.

“Would it be okay…?” Vladislav repeats after a moment.

“Could Kiro—Kirill train too?” David asks.

“You two, like puppies,” Vladislav mutters.

“Pardon?” David asks again.

“He is a bad influence on you,” Vladislav says. “You two giggle like children.”

“I’m sorry,” David says. “I promise we won’t.”

“You will,” Vladislav says dismissively. “But fine, tell Volkov he is allowed. Best for July anyway, then, Penguins might have another Cup this year.”

The Penguins took their series and Kiro still hadn’t touched the ice, but David felt bad enough after saying it to him, he’s not going to say it to anyone else. Besides, injuries are inevitable in the playoffs, and more likely than not, if the Penguins go to the Finals Kiro will play at least a game, so Vladislav has a point.

“Thank you,” David says. “I really appreciate it.”

“Practice your swimming,” Vladislav says. “I want you better when July comes. Volkov is too smug when he laps you.”

“Okay,” David says. “I will. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, you pay me for this,” Vladislav says, brusque. “You had a very good season,” he says, after, tone changing.

“Thanks to you,” David says.

Vladislav scoffs. “Thanks to you, Chapman,” Vladislav says. “You thank others too much.”

“Sorry,” David says.

“Yes,” Vladislav says. “You do that too much too. Maybe train on that also.”

“Uh,” David says.

“See you in July,” Vladislav says, and then hangs up on him.

Kiro does a little dance when David tells him Vladislav has agreed. At least, he tells David he’s doing a little dance, and David doesn’t think that’s the sort of thing you’d lie about. Or tell people about, either, but Kiro doesn’t seem to get embarrassed by himself.

“NHL Awards with me as your date and then two months training,” Kiro says. “Summer of Kiro.”

“It’s not a date,” David argues. 

“Sure,” Kiro says. “Not date. I do air quotes.”

“Don’t do air quotes,” David says.

“Sure,” Kiro says. He pauses. “I do air quotes again,” he tells David in a loud whisper.

David laughs. “Stop it,” he says. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like that I am ridiculous,” Kiro says. “Brings joy to your serious life.”

He’s not wrong, but David isn’t going to admit it. “It’s really not a date,” he says. “Stop calling it a date.”

“Why, still a funny joke even if you are gay,” Kiro says.

David swallows.

“I’m at home alone,” Kiro says, like he can read David’s mind. “No one hears.”

“Okay,” David says. “It’s not a date though. I have better taste than that.”

“Ouch,” Kiro says. “Also a lie. You date dumb American, I am way better.”

“He’s not dumb,” David says. 

“Oh Davidson,” Kiro says. “Pining is not a good look.”

“I’m not pining,” David says. “You can’t even see me,” he adds, after a minute.

“I can see you in my mind,” Kiro says. “You look sad.”

“Stop it,” David says.

“Okay,” Kiro says. “We talk suits for Awards, then. Can’t clash.”

“I don’t want to talk about suits,” David says. “It isn’t even for months yet.”

“We talk suits or we talk sad Davidson, missing his American,” Kiro says.

“What colour tie are you thinking?” David asks, after a moment, and Kiro crows triumphantly.


End file.
